Detective Is A Four Letter Word
by XxSilly LilyxX
Summary: Silly Lily is back at it again! What do Dick Tracy and an end game quest have to do with each other? Read the short story of an in game detective and find out. R&R plz!
1. Scene 1

((Note from the author: Once again, the story bug bit me and I came up with this kooky short story of a detective (an RPer) who is RPing in game as such. He narrates to himself aloud and thinks of himself to be a darn good detective, although that may or may not be the case. This is just something a little fun, and a little different. I'm not quite sure if this story fits in here in this community, so if this type of story isn't allowed here, please tell me ASAP and I'll remove it. Lastly, I do not own any part of World of Warcraft in any way, shape or form, nor do I take any credit from Blizzard's work. Thanks! ))

_This world is full of mystery. If you really want to get all philosophical about it... we all really don't know what the hell is going on. We're all just swimming around in a giant bowl of mystery... with mystery flakes and a few of those little marshmallows. But no one really likes the marshmallows. Remember as a kid when grown-ups tried to give you mystery flavored anything and it tasted like licking the backside of a horse? Well, I like licking the backside of that horse. And when that big bowl of mystery we're all in decides to overflow, that's when they call me, Stan. Well, they don't _call _me Stan. Most of the time, I get, "Hey loser in the trench coat! Stop talking to yourself! It's creeping me out!" Quite a mouthful, but I've never been too picky about names. _

You see, I'm a detective. And detective is a four letter word. S-t-a-n. This means that looking for it in the dictionary might be a tad tricky and probably isn't a good idea. But rest assured, that's how it's spelled. My line of work is very complicated, hiding under the radar of most people. I sort of... detect.. things. Hmm... perhaps my profession can best be described by interpretive dance. But we have no time for that. I'll give you a rain check. As I was saying, detective work ain't easy. Like that case I had just last week. I thought I'd seen everything, but little did I know, I was monkey-butt stinkin' wrong. And that's the worst kind of wrong to be...

It was just like any other normal day. Normal in a slightly odd yet different sorta' way. You know what I'm talking about. I was sitting in my office, chatting with a few close friends of mine. Well... not so much my office as The Pig and Whistle Tavern. And not so much as close friends as a group of customers yelling at me about "my conversation with myself was disturbing their meal". Reese will let anyone in here these days. I shook my head and turned around in my seat, facing the door. That's when,_she _walked in. I shoulda' known she was trouble with a capital T the moment she walked through the door. She looked like any other night elf dame. Petite. Long hair. Freaky glowy eyes. Legs from here to Outland. Just my type. Wrong race. And personally, I prefer to go for dames around my age or at least only 1000 years older than me. Call me picky.

She walked right up to me and sat at my table without batting one freaky eye. Pretty and bold. I could tell I was gonna' like where this was going. I waited for her to speak, because I'm a gentleman and that's what we do. I'm not sure why we do it except for the fact that it makes dames feel important and I don't get a dainty palm brought across my tender cheeks. Chivalry isn't dead... for those of us who fear a woman's wrath.

Her rosy, pouted lips parted, and I leaned forward in my seat slightly in anticipation. "**LFG ONIXIA PLZ I NEDE HEPL!**!" Ah, she had the voice of a lark... a lark with some sort of Common butchering Tourettes. Now, I wasn't quite sure what this "hepl" was, but it sounded like she needed help. And by the way that strange red symmetrical air was escaping her mouth as she shouted her cry for help again, I could tell she needed help bad. And I was just the sucker for the job.

Ignoring the ringing in my ears, I told her that I was a detective and I was more than willing to give her the help she was seeking. She was extremely grateful of my gesture of kindness, the sexual tension between us permeating the thick, stagnant tavern air.

"W/E DID U DO TEH DRAGIN PARTT ALRDY? Y R U TALKING 2 URSELF?"

Again, I didn't quite understand what she was saying. Perhaps she had a speech impediment? Had her wisdom teeth pulled recently and her mouth is still numb? In any case, I did understand the word "dragon" and coincidently enough, I had gone hunting in the Burning Steppes on my day off. I did fairly well, killing fifteen black broodlings, ten black dragonspawn, one black drake and four black wyrmkin exactly. I had been about to head home with my kills (oh what a fine stew I was going to make!), when I was stopped by a fellow named Helendis Riverhorn.

He offered me one piece of gold and 65 silver for the dragonkin I'd slain. I decided that dragon meat was too spicy for me anyway, and handed my kills over. Not only did he fork over the gold, but he handed me a letter as well. It was the same one I was using as a coaster for my mug of ale. The dame's mentioning of dragons made me reach out and remove the letter from under my mug. It was a little damp, but readable. Scanning it quickly with my super keen sight, I surmised that this Riverhorn guy wanted me to take the letter to some muckity muck named Magistrate Solomon.

Things were starting to get interesting. Not as interesting as say, a fight between a fighting battle chicken in a dress and a greased up gnome dual wielding turkey basters... but interesting nonetheless. It seemed that in order to get to this Onixia person, I'd have to go through the correct sources, based on what the elf was hinting at. That's just fine with me. I don't mind playing a little cat and mouse. As long as I'm the cat. I hear the mouse always gets screwed in the end. I ain't too sure about that, seeing as he also gets the cheese, but I also ain't takin' any chances. I told the dame I'd meet up with her later on and perhaps we could compare notes. Her response was just as lyrical and articulate as the previous ones.

"KK MEET ENTERENSE 2 SW WHEN U DONE. KTHXBAI." Then, she rushed off in her curious night elf way; running into walls and jumping up and down arbitrarily. How exactly elves _live _to see one thousand... I'll never know. I followed the insane elf out of the tavern, waving at Reese as I walked out. He'd put the ale on my tab. He's an okay guy, I suppose, but you gotta' watch your back around him. See, he thinks that I don't know that he waters down my ale. And little does he know I slept with his wife. As far as I'm concerned, we're even.

As I stepped into the eerily silent streets of Old Town, I was nearly run over by some idiot. A real meathead by the looks of it. The clean shaven man asked me for some money. I politely told him that Goldshire was missing an idiot, so he better hurry along less the lack of stupidity and complete ignorance caused the town to implode on itself. I even said please. For some reason, my words angered him and his reply, though unintelligible, reflected this.

"R U RPER? ZOMGZ U FUKIN NUB! GO BAK TO FARRY LAND FARRY BOI! IF I WER CHUCK NORRIZ I'D ROUNDHOUS KICK U IN TEH FACE! GTFO MY SEVER AND LRN2NOTBGHEY, KTHXBAI."

Clearly the man was possessed and speaking in tongues, but not being a man of the cloth, there was only one thing a man of my principles could do. I began beating him with my shoe, hoping the smooth, leather sole would banish the evil that had driven him into this state of madness. Whoever this Chuck Norriz guy was, I would not let him claim this man to be his unwitting, brainless pawn of evil. When my arms finally got tired, I put back on my shoe, noting that I'd have to clean the blood off later.

There was no time to see if my exorcism worked, for I had things to do, people to interrogate and places to loiter around in a very cool and debonair pose in. I knew the Magistrate resided in Lakeshire, so I made my way to the gryphon master and purchased a ride straight there. I knew there was something up by the way that dame came groveling for my help. Something smelled fishy like... smelly fish from... the smelly ocean water. ... I'm not really good at similes. But what I am good at is detective stuff, and I was about to be all over the Magistrate like... his wife... on their honeymo... oh, screw it. Glad I never became a Common teacher, like Mama wanted...


	2. Scene 2

Did I mention I have a fear of heights? Well, that's kinda' important. So anyway, I screamed the entire way there and when I landed, my throat was raw. Of course, that didn't stop me from remaining on the gryphon and continuing to scream until the gryphon master called me a "nut" and pushed me on my way. He seemed like a good guy, the honest type. I'll have to remember not to sleep with his wife.

Ain't much very special about Redridge. It's got red... rocks... in a ridge type formation and that's about it. Oh, and there's roving bands of blood thirsty Blackrock Orcs and Redridge Gnolls that'll rip your face off and eat it faster than you can say, "I hope face transplants are covered by my health plan..." Like I said, ain't much special there. Lakeshire is a quaint little town, almost completely surrounded by pointy teethed, flesh eating creatures lurking around every corner, over every hill, and under every dumb, red rock.

Who was the genius who decided to build the town in the middle of a freakin' monster land like some sort of hellish kitchen of death? Maybe there's something not right in that lake water... which makes sense, since murlocs and threshers consider it their private restroom. I made a mental note not to drink anything while I was there. There were a couple of buildings standing before me, but I was unsure which one the Magistrate was hiding in.

A Dwarf followed by an unhappy, scraggly bird (a fleshripper, I think), darted by and I called out to him. He stopped and turned, just as his "pet" decided it was the perfect time for a coup d'état while his owner was distracted and began showing exactly who the master was in that relationship. It got me thinking... who in their right mind would try and tame an animal with a name like "fleshripper"?

Actually, the feathery traitor reminded me of an ex-girlfriend. Feisty and having a taste for rending flesh from bone. Damn, I miss Suzy. The hunter finally got his "pet" under control, turning to me and very eloquently asking me why I had stopped him.

"Wat? U want 2 by **Tanned Leather Pants**?"

When the Magistrate finished reading the letter, he began blabbing about some conspiracy and not being able to withstand an attack from both the Blackrock Orcs and the black dragonflight. I wanted to say, "Well you guys are the freakin' geniuses who made yourselves a smorgasbord for all the surrounding bloodthirsty beasties" but I held my tongue. I feel its best to let stupid be stupid. That way, hopefully they will be well taken care of down the line by evolution (or bloodthirsty Blackrock Orcs). Personally, I'm rooting for the Orcs. Evolution takes too long for my tastes.

Ol' Solomon went on and on like a nine-year-old girl and handed me a note, pleading with me to deliver it to Highlord Bolvar Fordragon in Stormwind. This case was going all the way up to the top; and I wasn't sure if I wanted to get my hands dirty and come crashing down with they rest of 'em. I asked the Magistrate if I looked like his errand boy and why he couldn't send one of his lackeys who get paid to smother his hindquarters with kisses to do the job.

He didn't answer, but just stared at me with those large, puppy dog brown eyes. Damn. I hate when people make that face. I just.. can't fight it. Call me weak, but I have yet to meet a man that could say no to the puppy face. I snatched the letter from his hands, stuffing it into my pocket. I couldn't be too mad, seeing as at least there was some type of reward. He had mentioned something about "XP" in his sissy girl whining. Now, I'm not up on all the hip jive talk going around these days, but I think that XP is slang for either money or some sort of illegal stimulant. Either way, I got no complaints.

I strode out of the Town Hall and made my way back to the Gryphon Master. He was only more than happy to send me on my way. Another two minutes or so of screaming, I made it to Stormwind fine, it only taking the Stormwind Gryphon Master a moment to pry me from the flying beast.

I paused in the center of the Trade District for a moment to gather my bearings and my stomach which had uncomfortably lodged itself into my throat during the horrific gryphon ride from hell, and lo and behold, who did I see? It was that dame from before, the one I was running all around Stormwind and Redridge for. I paused, wanting to have a word with her, but she appeared to be busy.

She was standing on top of a mailbox, moving in a manner that can best be described as "suggestive". It was a ritual I had grown accustom to seeing, one where a night elf, most of the times female, will stand upon some tall structure, remove most of her clothing and beseech to the gods above for rain, snow, a fiery apocalypse, hell if I know.

And the spectators of this ritual are expected to scream lewd comments at the elf and offer him or her small amounts of money to continue, or they strip as well and join in the festivities. The dance was almost magical, bringing a tear to my eye. It was always great to see a culture keeping traditions going strong. I wanted to participate in the ritual but I had a Highlord whathisface to talk to. But there was one thing I had to do before I set off on my merry way.

I pushed through the awestruck spectators until I stood before the vision of elven beauty. I asked her for her name, hoping I'd be heard over some fervent fan joining in the ritualistic chants. "HOW BOUT I B UR DADDY AND WE GO CYBORZ ON THE TRAM? I TAKE OFF MY WIZERD ROBE AND HAT, RAWRZ!"

The elf ignored this and hopped down, standing directly in front of me. I tried to look her in the face, but her chest kept getting in the way. Now anyone standing there might've thought I was rudely staring at her scantily clad body, but that just ain't the case. I just know how to appreciate the beauty of a woman… by ogling.

Finally, she answered my question, announcing it loud and proud for all to hear. "Ipwnyou!". At first I just blinked stupidly at her. Then I nodded, understanding what she was saying. Ipwnyou must be her elf tribe name or something. I told her she could call me Stan, lover, Big Daddy or whatever she felt inclined to address me as. She giggled, then leapt back onto the mailbox to continue the mystical dance of her people. And I, for one, salute that dance.


End file.
